


Slow Dance

by Ellie5192



Series: A Little Light Music [4]
Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, mumma!raydor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 02:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie5192/pseuds/Ellie5192
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They look at each other for a moment, caught between awkwardness and friendship, teetering on the edge of flirting, but not quite making it. Mostly she just hopes he’ll accept, because teaching Rusty how to dance from the wrong side is going to be frustrating as hell."<br/>Written for the prompt- Sharon/Andy; dancing. Fluff and angst, and so much UST. Can stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a prompt-fic for authorjazmyne: Sharon/Andy, dancing.   
> Fluff, fluffety fluff, pre-ship, and I’m gonna say we’re starting to steer somewhat away from canon at this point. I’m throwing it in this series because it kind of fits. Whatever, it’s here, you’re welcome.  
> Much love once again to my wonderful and beautiful reviewers, and many thanks to those who are still reading. Please let me know what you think.

**_Slow Dance_ **

 

She’s walking into the elevator, lost in her own little world, when a voice sounds behind her.

“Hold the door”

She recognises who it is, and throws her hand out to keep the elevator door open, smiling when Andy comes into view. He’s surprised to find that it’s just the two of them, but as it so often happens, they are the last two left on a random Tuesday night after wrapping up their latest murder.

“Captain” he says. His tone sounds friendlier than the use of her rank would suggest.

“Andy” she replies with a soft smile, comfortable to use his given name now that they’re off duty.

They ride in silence for a short moment, relaxed in each other’s presence, but there’s a surprising tension in the air, and she can’t quite figure out why they’re both shuffling their feet. She feels ridiculous; she feels like she’s sixteen again. It must be the ambiguity in their friendship that does this, because she’s never been timid in relationships, and she’s never been reluctant to make friends, and Andy doesn’t strike her as the kind of man to be unsure of himself while riding in an elevator with a colleague. When he breaks the silence she almost sighs with relief.

“You and the kid have big plans for tonight?”

“Well, sort of” she replies, looking at him briefly with a smile. He answers with a questioning look. “Rusty has his first school dance coming up, and all the students are expected to… dance”

She’s not prepared for his boisterous laugh, but she gladly joins in. She nods at him, acknowledging how ridiculous that sounds.

“You’re kidding? Dances, with real dancing? I didn’t know schools still did that”

“Apparently the Catholics do”

“Let me guess; the kid’s got no idea”

She hums instead of laughs, her eyes going wide for a moment.

“And you’ve decided you have to teach him?”

“Well, he refuses to go to after-school practices” she says in her defence, smiling. “But he’s going to be expected to dance at least once, so, yes, I suppose it has fallen to me”

“You out of practice, Captain?” he asks with a smirk. She turns to him and smirks right back; their relationship- whatever it may be- seems easier to deal with when they’re teasing each other.

“It’s been a while, but I think I can remember the steps” she replies, nothing short of suggestive.

He seems impressed by her willingness to play along. Perhaps it’s because she’s known him so long; perhaps it’s because he’s proved himself a friend and an ally; perhaps it’s because she likes him right back. Whatever the reason, she feels emboldened by his attitude, and surprises herself by not being the least bit intimidated by the situation. She knows her own strengths and weaknesses. She knows she can flirt shamelessly with a man she’s threatening with a lawsuit, but turns shy when asked where she wants to go for dinner on a date. It’s less about self-consciousness and more about still feeling married, despite the separation and the lovers since. She’s never found something better than her husband; never had a relationship during her separation in which she’s been in love enough to ask for a divorce. In many ways it keeps her love life simple; it provides a measurement and scale by which to judge her feelings. But it also makes her uncertain on how to react to other men, knowing that bond still exists, and knowing she’ll always love her husband in some small way.

Despite all that, with Andy she feels single again, and that feels dangerous.

They’re stepping out of the elevator on the carpark level when she breaks their impasse, blurting out the first thing on her mind.

“I was wondering… -oh, no, never mind-“

“What?”

She meets his eyes, and for all the flirting of before, his look is earnest and his eyes wide, and it’s that distinction- that ability he has to turn it off- that makes her think that this time it might be different.

She considers not continuing her thought, but she holds his gaze and he searches her, wondering, and she decides to just bite the bullet and go for it.

“What I was going to ask was… well, it seems a bit ridiculous, but…” She sighs, and cuts herself off with a roll of her eyes. “I was wondering if you would mind helping me… tonight… with teaching Rusty”

His open expression turns soft, and then almost a grin, before landing somewhere in the alarming vicinity of tender.

“I’ve never had to teach the male half before- my husband showed my son his part, so, you see, I’m a little out of my league”

“I thought you said you remembered the steps” he says with a soft grin.

“For the woman’s part I do” she concedes, adjusting her bag strap on her shoulder and gripping it for something to do. They look at each other for a moment, caught between awkwardness and friendship, teetering on the edge of flirting, but not quite making it. Mostly she just hopes he’ll accept, because teaching Rusty how to dance from the wrong side is going to be frustrating as hell.

“Sure. I’ll show him the ropes”

“Oh, thank you” she says, sagging with relief. “I truly appreciate that”

He nods at her, never losing the grin.

“I’ll follow you?” he asks, gesturing vaguely towards the few cars remaining in the lot, including their own, parked side by side. She nods as they continue walking.

“Yes”

He nods, and they unlock their doors and open them.

“And Andy? Thank you again. It’s an unusual request and-“

“No worries. I’m happy to help”

She nods again with a half-smile and slips into her car, pulling out in front of him and leading him all the way to her condo. She hums along to the radio, and almost forgets he’s even there until they pull up at her building. She takes her assigned space as he continues on to a guest park, and they meet again at the stairwell.

Rusty greets her at the door as he’s walking back into the living room from the hallway, and he falters only slightly when he notices Andy walking in behind her.

“Have you eaten?” she asks him, dumping her bag near the front door and her keys on the sideboard.

“I had some Twisties” he says. Sharon scoffs at him and shakes her head with a smirk. Andy is standing behind her, just inside the door, grinning at the exchange. He’s seen them together often enough to see how their dynamic works, but it’s never been in her own domain before, and he notices immediately that her demeanour softens and her shoulders relax as soon as she steps further into her home. She absently shakes one hand through her hair as she walks in front of him to the living area, her skirt swishing lightly, and he can see how comfortable she is in this space. This is her home, and he discretely looks around, taking note of the taste and decorating. She’s classy, but not flashy; upmarket, and a little bit homey. The lamps are on, casting a yellow glow, and the papers strewn across the desk and table give the impression that the place is well lived-in, if a little too neat.

He immediately likes it. 

“So, dinner first, and then Lieutenant Flynn here has very graciously spared his time to help you practice dancing”

Andy follows her into the kitchen as Rusty groans, and he tries not to smile, but he’s getting the feeling that this arrangement was not necessarily a mutual agreement.

“I told you I didn’t want to dance at this stupid ball” moans Rusty, following them and stopping on the dining side of the kitchen island. Andy seems unsure of where to stand and so stops with his hands in his pockets near the edge of the kitchen, close enough to offer a hand but not so close that he’s in the way.

“And I told you that you’re not going to be the only boy moping on the sidelines”

“I don’t even have anyone to dance with, Sharon”

“That won’t matter. No doubt they’ll pair you all up before the big day”

Andy doesn’t contain his grin at that, and the way she just waves away Rusty’s concerns with a flick of her wrist is more amusing than it has any right to be, as she spins to collect a pot from a bottom cupboard.

“So how was school today? Did you hand that assignment in?” she asks, changing the subject for the moment, going to the fridge to collect ingredients. Andy steps forward and helps, desperate for something to do. She smiles her thanks.

“Yeah. But we got that extension like I said we would, so I don’t see why I had to have it done so early”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ve done it on time like the teacher originally asked; it’s good practice for college”

“Oh, please, not this again”

The next hour passes in a flash, the three of them working to prepare dinner, set the table, and serve the food, all while talking about the mundane, the everyday. Andy assists in making a simple bolognaise, and though they expect a level of awkwardness over the three of them sitting at the table and sharing a meal, there isn’t any. Rusty regales them with tales of his chess team, and the English teacher who spent half of the class explaining the importance of the red dress in the book they’re reading. Andy laughs and Sharon smiles, and it’s only once they’re cleaning up that they remember why Andy has come in the first place.

He gestures to the living room, looking at her, pointing in the direction of her couch and coffee table, just as Rusty is putting the ice cream bowls in the dishwasher.

“Oh. Right”

She shakes herself out of her thoughts and taps Rusty on the shoulder, which only makes him roll his eyes. The three of them move the couch backwards and the coffee table towards the window, providing almost the entire space of the rug in which to dance. Sharon cues up a CD, and a moment later a respectable waltz floats through the surround sound. Andy gives her a bemused expression, and she only shrugs, not feeling the need to explain why she has this music at the ready. Rusty is watching them, suspicious but not cynical. He’s seen them at work, but this dynamic- in her house, both without their shoes or jackets, fed and relaxed- is as new for him as it is for them, and he’s not sure what to make of it.

“Okay kid. First thing’s first”

He gestures for Sharon to come onto the mat, and positions Rusty in front of her, almost a foot away.

“Hands” says Andy.

Already the boy looks panicked.

“It’s okay, Rusty” soothes Sharon gently. “Here, see, right hand here, at the waist-“

“Notice- it’s the waist, not her ass”

Rusty blushes furiously, and almost decides then and there that he’s going to be ill on the night of this ball. Sharon almost laughs, but spares him that embarrassment, shooting a half-hearted warning at Andy, who can’t contain his smirk.

“- and the other hand holds mine” finishes Sharon. “See? So you’re in a position to lead”

“Lead, not drag” adds Andy. “You’re the leader, but you have to be on time, so she can follow”

“Don’t be an asshole, got it”

“Language” mutters Sharon.

Her automated tone sounds far too practiced. Andy gives another grin.

“Chicks love a guy who can dance” he says.

“Yes, because I’m such a chick magnet”

“Okay, so, next is the beat” says Sharon, cutting off their friendly ribbing before it even thinks about becoming serious. “It’s a three-four beat… can you hear it?”

“Yeah, I think. Kinda”

“Okay, so, we’re gonna go… one, two, three, one, two, three…”

They don’t move for a moment, allowing Rusty to count in his head. He’s looking at their feet, and as Sharon gently pulls him in the right direction, Andy steps behind him, hands on his shoulders, to gently guide his movements. It’s clumsy, and staggered, and at the moment not on the beat of the music playing, but it is a waltz, and she thinks that he’s much more of a natural than her son was. Andy makes small corrections here and there, muttering instructions to him as they go, giving him pointers on what movements to make and how to hold his arms.

“Feel it?” asks Sharon, once they’ve picked up enough speed to dance on the beat of the music. “One, two, three…”

“Okay, but, like, what direction do I go?”

“You lead any way you like, just so long as it’s fluid, and in time, and don’t make it awkward for your partner” answers Andy, letting his hands drop, taking a step back so Rusty can take over.

“Remember, she’ll be in heals” adds Sharon.

“Right”

“It’s your job, kid, to lead her nicely- make sure she doesn’t fall over your feet. So it’s up to you where you go, but make it glide”

“Glide?”

“Right”

“Okay, so, try on your own” encourages Sharon, strengthening her arms back into a pose.

Rusty meets her eyes, searching and thoroughly embarrassed, but she only smiles at him, tender like a doting mother, and nods once, giving him her unquestioning trust. He starts bobbing his head in time to the music, muttering the beats under his breath, and with a deep breath he leads Sharon backwards in their first steps. He almost catches her toes, but doesn’t, and she’s so proud.

Andy only stands to the side and smiles.

He leads her around a few more times, mostly without fault, though it’s still shaky, and she makes the occasional correction in his movement, giving him advice from the female’s point of view. By the time the lesson is closing, the CD nearing the end of its tracks, she’s confident that he’ll get the hang of it in time, with a little more practice.

“You did good kid” says Andy, clapping his shoulder.

Rusty gives a sheepish grin, and quickly excuses himself, belatedly thanking them both over his shoulder. He disappears down the hall to his room, ostensibly to change from his uniform into his pyjamas and get ready for bed. They both smile after him, standing in the middle of the rug, her arms folded loosely around her, his hands in his pants pockets, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow, tie long discarded with his jacket and shoes.  

“He did well” says Sharon, pride colouring her tone.

“So did you” he counters, and she turns to face him. “You remembered the steps after all”

“You weren’t so bad yourself” she says.

It should feel like innocent flirting, like their elevator conversation, only it doesn’t.

The lamps are still casting their soft glow, and the music is still filtering through the speakers, and they’re both barefoot and relaxed in the open space of her living room, and it suddenly feels very intimate. He might just be riding on the vibes of the night, and later she could try and blame her customary glass of wine, but for whatever reason, when he holds out his hand to her she doesn’t hesitate in taking it, and suddenly they're slow waltzing across the mat. His steps are light as air; a stark contrast to Rusty’s fumbling. She hasn’t been dancing in years, and hasn’t danced in her living room since she was (happily) married, and it’s almost enough to make her head spin. Before she can dwell, the CD ends, and the stacker immediately cues the next one, and a new track starts; a slow dance, not enough beat behind it to keep waltzing, not fast enough to stay far apart.

She meets his gaze, hand still resting in his, his hand still warm against her back, far enough from her ass that she doesn’t feel in any way vulnerable. She almost smiles at that. He’s watching her closely, and keeps watching as he moves fractionally closer and starts to lead her again, barely side to side. It’s a gentle rock; a leaf on a breeze.

She lets him.

She knows his reputation with women. She finds it amusing most of the time, and juvenile the rest of the time, but she gets the distinct impression that slow dancing in their living room is not a normal occurrence. It certainly hasn’t been a regular event with any of her lovers.

Again she is thrown into a spin regarding their relationship, and what it is, and what could be. If he was ever serious about courting her, she would expect him to pull any number of his usual moves right now, perhaps toned down for the sake of her ward down the hall. If he’s not serious, she can’t think of a single good reason why he’d lead her on in such a humble manner, devoid of malice, selfless and sweet. It doesn’t feel like he’s doing either of these things.

He seems, from what she can see, as inexplicably caught in this as she is. He seems just as unsure of everything, except where to put his feet.

He seems mesmerised.

She takes a long, hard blink, and clears her mind, and lets her eyes fall completely shut as his head moves just slightly closer to hers, his cheek coming to rest against the side of her hair. She feels him, close as they are, taking deep breaths, and she gets the impression that he is noticing her perfume, or the scent of her shampoo. Her lips are inches from his shoulder, and she can smell his aftershave. It smells good.

She knows his eyes are closed too. She can feel his lazy smile.

She can feel her own in response.

They sway, slowly, side to side, occasionally turning on the spot, tune after tune remaining slow and steady, and she can’t remember where she got this CD, but it might have been a mix-tape she made for moments just like this one. They haven’t even kissed- she’s not even sure they’re true friends- and yet this is the most intimate moment she’s had since her children were small, and her husband was somewhat sober, and they weren’t burdened with debt and resentments.

She doesn’t know what they are, but in this moment it’s glorious.

She could kick herself for yawning, but it gives them the perfect moment to part, because if they continue like this all night she knows she’ll kiss him, and that’s not only risky, it’s foolish. She can’t kiss him until she knows what this is; and she can’t ask that question until she’s sure they can handle the answer.

He pulls away, and she covers her mouth with the hand from his shoulder. Her other hand is still being held lightly in his, and though he looks for a moment like he wants to kiss her, his eyes darting to her lips and back, he brings her hand to his mouth and kisses her knuckles instead.

She turns bashful under the look he’s giving her.

He lets her go.

“Well done tonight”

“Thank you for coming”

They’re talking barely above a whisper, and though the moment lingers, he eventually pulls away and purposefully walks over to his shoes, sliding them on and flopping onto her couch to tie the laces.

She takes the moment to gather the dirty glasses left on the dinner table and collect her thoughts, and when she returns to the living room he’s slipping into his jacket, rolling his tie and tucking it neatly into a spare pocket.

He makes his way to her door, recognising the need to leave while they have this reprieve in the mood. She wants to be polite and offer him a coffee before he leaves, but that’s not the smart thing to do, so she doesn’t. She’s thankful that he seems to understand that and isn’t lingering.

She holds the door open for him as he turns on the threshold to look at her once more.

“I had a good time tonight” he says.

“Me too” she mutters, her voice airy.

“The kid’ll do great”

“He will, thanks to you. Thank you again for coming tonight”

“Any time”

His eyes soften, just enough to be noticed, and she smiles sheepishly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow” he says. His voice still sounds softer than it should. She wonders if it will still be that way in the morning.

“That you will. I’ll see you then”

He nods one last time, and then he’s walking down the hall, hands in his pockets, head hung lazily towards his chest. He must know she’s watching him, but he doesn’t look back, and when he starts down the stairs, she shakes herself out of her reverie and closes the door, pressing her back into it as it shuts firmly behind her.

She shakes her head once, and then again, and finally pulls herself together enough to push herself off the door and into the kitchen. It’s rather late. She turns out the lights, and turns off the CD player, tracking through the house, picking up her shoes and her discarded jacket. Quietly she makes her way to her bedroom, next to the bathroom she shares with Rusty. Through the ensuite door she can hear him brushing his teeth, and she hopes he didn’t see them before crossing the hallway. He’s just starting to truly settle in, and she doesn’t want this to upset him. It’s confusing enough to her as it is.

She adds Rusty to the mental list of reasons why Andy Flynn is entirely off-limits.

Her list doesn’t seem to help her, though, when she’s lying in bed pondering the scent of his aftershave, and the warmth of his hand, and the sway of his hips in time to the soft melody.

That night she dreams, of arms holding her from behind. Nothing more, merely holding her in her sleep, but it’s enough to know where her dream comes from and why it surfaced now.

It’s enough to know that she wants him, just a little bit.

She thinks he might just feel the same.

She’s not quite sure why that thought makes her feel so lonely. 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This idea has been written before in various forms, but alas, this was the only way I could make this prompt feel in any way canon-related. Plus, once I got the mental image of Andy and Sharon slow dancing in her living room, I couldn’t ignore it.  
> Songs which inspired various parts of this story include (but are not limited to) Under The Bridges of Paris and Moon River by Randy Spendlove, The Book of Love by Peter Gabriel, and Slow Dancing In A Burning Room by John Mayer.


End file.
